


this is what you'll never know

by colonelcatastrophe



Series: wake my spirit cold [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Gen, Good Sister Vanya Hargreeves, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelcatastrophe/pseuds/colonelcatastrophe
Summary: A 22-year-old Vanya is commuting home when she meets a familiar face on the subway. She might not understand this Klaus anymore, but that doesn’t mean she can’t try.Part of the “wake my spirit cold” ‘verse, though you don't necessarily need to read that first.





	1. chapter one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Tall Heights song “Roanoke.” 
> 
> See end notes for chapter-specific triggers.

After wiping the sweat dripping down the side of her face, Vanya readjusts the strap of her violin case over her shoulder as the doors of the subway slide open, their typical _ding_ sounding down the platform. A rush of cool air blasts her in the face and she steps from the stuffy, overheated platform into the mostly-empty and blessedly air-conditioned car. 

Without hesitation, she settles down into one of the available seats with their tacky orange plastic covering. Popping her headphones in and idly scrolling through her playlists to pick one for the ride home, she glances down the length of the subway car. It’s mostly empty, with only a few businessmen in suits and leather briefcases on her end, an elderly couple holding hands quietly, what looked to be a homeless person lying obscured under a blanket, and a group of quietly giggling teenagers gossiping on the other end of the car. It’s usually a sparse crowd, at this time of day. Rush hour is long over, and even the dinner rush has quieted. Vanya’s rehearsals for her new gig in a pit orchestra runs from 9 to 11 this week, which luckily doesn’t interfere with her philharmonic rehearsals earlier in the day. The only downside is the tedious commute home afterwards.

She hopes that her private lessons will pick up again soon - if they do, she might be able to afford the rent of the neighborhoods closer to the theatre district. The orchestra she’s in doesn’t pay at all, not when she’s still a trial instrumentalist for at least another few months, and her pit orchestra gig pays very little. And unfortunately, the frequency of her private students always seems to slow in the summer, when there are more alluring activities to spend time on rather than violin practice. Right now, she only has one student, and even then, the girl’s mother tends to cancel more often than not. So at least for now, she’s stuck with an hour-long commute to her shithole apartment on the outskirts of the city after a long day suffering through the gig economy in the middle of a heat wave. 

But she’s out of the mansion, she’s providing for herself, and she’s making _music_ , every day. So while it might not be an ideal situation, she can’t find the heart to truly complain. 

Vanya leans her head back against the cool glass of the window behind her, thankful that the air works in this car. Sometimes, the ones she steps into are just as hot as the platform, which is only a step above hell when combined with the bodies of sweating strangers and the nausea-inducing rocking of the screeching tracks. 

She glances up at the ads lining the tops of the windows across from her seat and next to the sliding doors of the car. Sometimes there are some good ones, like word puzzles or moments of poetry. Even the standard advertising can be amusing, and at least if she’s reading the walls she doesn’t have to worry about avoiding eye contact with other people in the car. (Those fleeting moments when she glances up to look at someone’s face and half a second later they catch her looking at them make her flush beet red, even if she hadn’t meant to stare in the first place, so it’s best to avoid that if at all possible.)

There’s a new ad up next to the door that she hasn’t seen before, a purple poster with gold lettering. This one is in Spanish - always a fun challenge to see how much she can read. She leans forward in her seat so she can make out the text. “Conozca los signos;” it’s got to be something “the signs,” she guesses. Underneath that, there’s little stick figures, six of them, all with Spanish captions that are too tiny to read from where she’s sitting. But it looks like symptoms of some kind. An image of a snowflake over hands, a stick figure lying on the ground with an X over their chest, a stick figure choking, a solitary illustration of an eye with both an oversized and undersized pupil. There’s two more that seem related: a stick figure lying on the ground, and one slumped over in their seat. 

Her attention is briefly jolted as the car screeches to a stop at the next station (only fourteen stops left). The doors close after a grocery-laden woman steps into the car, and Vanya goes back to deciphering the poster. Signs of… illness? Although the focus on the eye's pupil size makes her think it has to do with signs of drug overdose, especially paired with the notice to “Llame al 911” in bold print at the bottom of the page. _It’s nice,_ she thinks, _that they’re advertising these things._ Helpful. It might mean that someone gets help that they need, and by letting bystanders know what to keep an eye out for. She figured it out, even though she doesn’t know much Spanish. That’s the sign of a strong, clear piece of advertising. 

She gives it a nod of approval and lets her gaze wander to the next advertisement over, a fun little illustration for a food delivery app. It only takes her about five minutes to visually make her way down the car before she’s out of ads to look at. 

She spends the next five minutes staring at her phone, pretending to scroll through her album list to choose a new song, though she makes no move to switch from her current playlist. There are only so many ways one can fake being busy, and it’s too difficult to pretend to text someone who didn’t exist. Besides, she rarely got reliable phone service this far underground. After boring herself that way, she decides to risk a glance up at the rest of the car. The businessmen are gone, and so are the giggling teens, only leaving the new rider (and her many grocery bags), and the elderly couple. And the person underneath the blanket. 

At least, she assumed it was a person. It was person-shaped. Though oddly, the person hadn’t moved even slightly since Vanya had gotten on. 

A slight warning sounds in the back of her brain as her eyes are drawn back to the poster from before. _Conozca los signos._ The figure under the blanket - she couldn’t tell if they were slumped, not while they were lying down. But they _were_ sprawled across the seats like the illustration of the stick figure sprawled across the ground. That’s why they put those posters up, so people would keep an eye out. Should she say something? Go over and see if the person was alright? That would be the ‘right’ thing to do. But this was the heart of the city. Any attempts to help could end up with her being stuck with a knife in the gut. 

The car stops again (thirteen stops left), and its doors close without anyone getting on or off. 

And it’s weird, right? That they’re under a blanket? It’s so hot out in this heat wave that there’s no way they could be cold, even in the light air conditioning of the subway. Vanya’s breathing begins to pick up in pace and she bites her lower lip in concern. If she _doesn’t_ say anything, and the person dies, it’ll be her fault. Because she saw _los signos_ and did nothing. A useless bystander, just like… well, just like she’d always been. 

Vanya refuses to accept that outcome. She takes out her headphones and carefully unplugs them from her phone, wrapping them and tucking them back into one of the side pockets of her violin case. She doesn’t put her phone away, though. If the person does need help, she’ll need to try calling 911 when they reach the next station, hoping her signal will actually reach. And if they try to attack her, she can call 911 for herself instead. It’ll be fine. Definitely, totally fine. 

Her phone clutched tightly in her hand, then, she stands and grips the metal railing above the seats to steady her balance as she walks towards the empty center of the car, where everyone had seemed to give the figure a wide berth, avoiding the seats on either side. 

Vanya steels herself and takes a deep breath. “Hi, sorry, excuse me,” she says, her voice as tightly-strung as always and her words rushed with the extra pressure of the situation. “I just wanted to make sure you were… okay?” 

She had spoken loudly enough that the person couldn’t have missed that the words were directed at them. But the figure didn’t move or reply. 

The subway car stops (twelve stops left), and Vanya glances up to see someone poking their head into the doorway in before pulling back out and heading to a different car. The doors close. 

“Hey, hey,” she repeats as the car begins moving again, her anxiety rising. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?” 

This time she does get a reply. 

“Tryin’ to get some goddamn _sleep,_ leave me ‘lone,” came a voice from underneath the blanket. The words are slurring and messy, each one bleeding into the next. That’s not a good sign, is it? Not reassuring in the least. 

Vanya crouches down so that her voice is on level with the shrouded figure. “Sorry,” she apologizes again, “But I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m worried.” Her admission is met only with unintelligible mumbling, and she suddenly wishes she knew more about overdoses. Los signos, the signs, okay, so maybe they met some of them, but how could she tell for sure? And what was she supposed to do about it? Would water help? 

She shrugs her violin case off her shoulder and pulls out the unopened water bottle cradled in the mesh pocket on its side. “Look, please, at the very least have some water. I’ll be happy to leave you alone if you have some.” It might not help with an _overdose,_ if that’s what this was, but they’re in the middle of a heat wave. Obviously water can’t _hurt_ anything.

The figure finally stirs at that, twitching underneath their blanket. “Water?” they ask, with a tone that Vanya pins as being suspicious and hopeful all at once. 

She’ll let them _have_ the water bottle, if they want it. It’s just a plastic one she picked up from a street vendor for a dollar because it was so warm on the street that she was worried about the heat down in the metro system. If that’s the offer that will get them to sit up so she can check— see if they have any other symptoms— or at least move to confirm that they aren’t _dying_ \--

“Yes,” she confirms. The blanket is shrugged aside as the figure visibly struggles to a sitting position, and when they turn their pale, gaunt face her way— she blinks, gobsmacked, the air sucked from her lungs at the sight of such a strangely familiar yet unfamiliar face. 

“Wait. Vanya?” her brother Klaus slurs, squinting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers: Vanya looks at a poster that describes symptoms of a drug overdose. Klaus may or may not meet these symptoms at this point. Also includes allusions to Vanya's anxiety. 
> 
> What UP, it's been a while! 
> 
> This takes place many years later than the rest of the series so far. I wanted to add installments to the series in a chronological order but hey, inspiration comes when it comes. A lot happened to the Hargreeves in between then (9 yrs old) and now (22 yrs), so... we'll see if I decide to include that stuff in these chapters or in referenced one-shots. 
> 
> Inspired by a real poster campaign I saw on the metro from Combat Addiction NY that really IS in some cars in English and some in Spanish - it's here: https://www.oasas.ny.gov/publications/pdf/OASAS-Overdose_Response_Poster-8.5x11-Eng-WEB.PDF


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Vanya almost can’t believe her eyes as she stares open-mouthed at the now-revealed figure next to her. 

It _is_ Klaus, that much is clear, though he’s almost unrecognizable. His face— all she can think is that he’s so _thin_. His jawline seems razor sharp, and his sunken eyes are rimmed with streaky eyeliner that was clearly applied with a steady hand at one point but that has since trickled down his sweating face. Vanya frowns as she takes in the dark purple bruise sits on one of his too-prominent cheekbones. His hair is the same dark black as it always was, though it’s longer than she’s ever seen it, even as curly and matted as it is. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Klaus moans. 

She’s immediately hurt by his reaction. Was it really that bad, seeing his sister? They’d been close once, when they were children. First, before he’d been the last one to come into his powers, when they were two outcasts, together; and then later, in their teen years, after Five’s disappearance, when the house began to split into Luther-and-Allison against the other four. They hadn’t _always_ gotten along, especially in the first few fraught years of his training, but he’d used to seek her out… to ask her to play violin for him, to help teach her how to sneak out at night, to cooperate in cheating on Pogo’s mandated academic tests. His giggle still echoes in her ears sometimes, when she hears a joke she knew he would have found particularly funny. When she gets too in-her-head and anxious about being _late_ or doing things _wrong_ or making a _bad impression_ at work, she can sometimes calm herself by pretending Klaus is there to poke fun at her tension and remind her that no mistake she could ever make would be the end of the world. And now… his first reaction to seeing her again after four whole years apart is to curse at her? 

Vanya knows she’s spiraling, halfway down an abyss of negativity, when she realizes that Klaus is still mumbling, so quietly that she has to lean forward to catch what he’s saying. “...can’t live with a shadow Seven too, deserves better than to be stuck followin’ me ‘round, ‘s not fair…” His slowly drawling words are trained down towards his lap, where his thin fingers are white-knuckled as they twist his thin sheet of a blanket into sweaty knots. 

She doesn’t understand half of what he’s rambling about. She’s twisting her neck from where she’s currently kneeling on the floor of the subway car so that she can try to look him in the eyes, but his head hangs limply from his neck as he continues to mumble. Suddenly, he completely topples over where he’s sitting, his head dropping to his knees as if he was a marionette whose strings were cut. Vanya worries that he’s passed out, but before she can react, Klaus is apologizing, though she doesn’t know what for. “’m sorry,” he says despairingly, his voice only slightly muffled by having been spoken directly into his purple leggings. She doesn’t know what to do to console her brother. But he seems so weighted down with world-weariness in this moment that she knows she has to do _something_ , even if she seems to be the last person he wants to see at the moment. 

Moving slowly, she reaches out one hand to pat his back in an attempt at comfort. As soon as her fingers collide with the thin fabric of his sweat-stained grey tank-top, he recoils with a gasp, twisting out of her grasp. She freezes, unsure what caused such a strong reaction, and watches as he lifts one trembling hand from his lap and reaches out to take her arm. As his fingers close around her wrist--Klaus’ hands aren’t cold, so that doesn’t match the symptoms poster that brought her over to him in the first place but she can tell that they’re clammy, and she doesn’t know if that’s better or worse--he exhales in relief. He’s looking her directly now, as if to drink in the sight of her, and she notes that his eyes are all pupil with hardly any green-brown iris at all. 

“Thought you were _dead_ ,” he suddenly laments loudly, his fingers still trembling around her wrist.

Oh. That made a kind of sense, she supposes. 

“No, I’m alive,” Vanya hastens to reassure him. “I live on this line, I’m just heading home from work. That’s all. Definitely alive.” Though she’s sure the sensation of her heartbeat thrumming wildly through her arm underneath his fingertips would make that evident now. 

He hasn’t looked away from her. “Water?” 

Her eyes are immediately drawn to his dry, cracked lips. “Yeah, uh, of course.” She doesn’t want to pull her wrist away, so she waits until the car comes to a stop at the next station (eleven stops left) before she risks twisting around with her free hand to grab the water bottle from her case. “Can I… sit next to you?” she asks, offering the plastic water bottle towards him.

“Oh.” Klaus blinks, as though he hasn’t thought of that. “Yes.” He finally lets go of her arm and scoots over a seat, though he wouldn’t need to— no one’s sitting within a ten-seat radius of them. “Plenty o’ room, they avoid us like the plague.” His words are still slightly slurred, so she doesn’t think it’s only an effect of having just woken up. 

So there’s the slurring, the pinprick pupils, the clammy hands. It’s clear that he’s on some sort of drug, but she doesn’t know what, and she doesn’t know if he’s taken too much, if she should call 911 or ask him or wait to see. 

In fact, she doesn’t know what to do at all at this point, except give him water, so she moves to sit next to him as he uncaps the bottle and takes a drink. She’s surprised when he only takes a small sip instead of gulping down the entire bottle. He pauses, then takes another small drink. “Is she really here?” he asks aloud, staring across the car to the empty row of seats across from them. There’s a moment of silence, and Vanya thinks he’s speaking to himself until he seemingly answers a reply that only he could hear.

They’re not the speech patterns she’s so familiar with. He always used to speak so... frenetically, like the words were coming out faster than he could form them in his mind. Each sentence had a build-up of energy that would pay off in the next, even more enthusiastic sentence. When they were kids, that was just Klaus’ personality, always filled to the brim with life. And later, when they were teenagers, it was the same— but sharper, flatter somehow. She’d always had the suspicion that he kept it up to try to distract himself, to fill the space around him with his own voice instead of allowing anything else— ghosts, emotions— to barge in. 

_These_ words trail from his lips much slower, lazier, like dripping molasses, like the flap of a bird’s wings in slow-motion. “Dunno, could be a hallucination. Remember the snake last week? No snake. Maybe no Vanya.” Another pause, longer this time. “Yeah, but they’re all I had. Right. so is she, or… okay, well. That’s... alright then.” Klaus takes another drink from the water bottle. 

She wonders who it is he thinks he’s seeing while he continues his one-sided conversation, as though he's forgotten she was there. 

Klaus had said once that he couldn’t hear the ever-present ghosts when he purposely altered his brain chemistry. He’d figured it out after being given painkillers when he was sick as a child, apparently. They’d all been fourteen when they started realizing that Klaus’ clothes always reeked of marijuana, that his room had become an impenetrable cloud of vapor. How much earlier than that he’d started using drugs purposely-- smoking pot, raiding Mom’s medicine cabinets for other painkillers-- they could only guess. Diego had been the one elected to confront him about it, with the others as shadows in tow, and Vanya would never forget the angry tears she saw in Klaus’ eyes when he told them that they didn’t _understand,_ it was the only way he could make it _quiet_ in his head. 

Luther had disapproved of the fact that he was shirking on his powers and trying to weasel out of his training. Diego, Allison, and Ben had been slightly more understanding after that, but still pressured him to cut back, annoyed that he couldn’t see the harm he was doing to himself or that there could be other ways to deal with his problems. Five had already disappeared at that point. Vanya had just felt as helpless as ever. 

So she knows it can’t be ghosts he’s hearing now, not when he’s so clearly under the influence of one drug or another. Vanya presses her lips together, then risks asking. “Klaus… who are you talking to?” 

Klaus rolls his head from where its propped back against the window to look in Vanya’s direction again. “Ben,” he replies simply. 

Vanya feels her heart break as the subway car screeches to another halt (ten stops left).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers for chapter two: symptoms of drug abuse (not mentioned specifically, but it's benzos), more of Vanya's anxiety, suspicion of drug-induced or mental-health induced hallucinations, grief over the loss of a sibling.
> 
> Comments make my world go 'round. But either way, thanks for reading this angsty mess! 
> 
> A couple headcanons about Klaus' drug use: his first time having actual medicine block out the ghosts was in the first part of the 'wake my spirit cold' series. I imagine him progressing to harder painkillers he found around the house and then to pot, since that's pretty easy to come across outside the house. At 22 I think Klaus had probably found his way to harder drugs. In this case, it's benzos (so, valium, xanax, etc, whatever pills he could get, basically) but I think he's a semi-frequent heroin user as well, though not as frequently as he will in his later 20s. If possible, he avoids stimulants like cocaine, because they're not as effective as downers at dulling the ghosts. 
> 
> The drug abuse national helpline (in the U.S.) is 1-800-662-HELP (4357), just for your information.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Ben’s death had been the earthquake that shattered the Umbrella Academy. 

They’d only just turned eighteen. It was still a cool, bright October day when they’d held the memorial service in the courtyard. Vanya remembered the weather vividly— it didn’t make sense, that the sun could still be shining after what had happened. 

Five’s disappearance was bad enough, but at least they could still hold out hope that one day he’d walk back through the door, looking older but probably still wiser than any of them. Ben, though— they had all felt like they were to blame. Vanya knew it. They might not have said so aloud, but the guilt was a shared weight among the remaining five of them. 

Luther had compartmentalized his grief, wanting to get back to work as soon as possible as a form of atonement. Diego had alternated between pursuing total isolation and seeking out fights with anyone he could, progressively getting angrier and angrier at the world and at himself. Allison focused all of her energy on coming up with a plan to leave entirely, hoping to put some distance between herself and the Academy by contacting all of the modeling and talent agencies that had ever expressed an interest in getting to know her better. Even on her meds, Vanya’s anxiety had worsened, to the point where Mom had set her up with an actual licensed therapist instead of only Pogo. Better late than never, she supposed. 

But Klaus was different. After Ben’s death, Vanya didn’t think she heard him speak a word, not even at their brother’s memorial. She wishes she had paid more attention at the time, but she’d been suffering herself. They all had. All she knew was that Klaus had locked himself in his room and hadn’t left, not for anything or anyone. A week or so later, when they began to realize that they hadn’t heard any movement from his floorboards in a while— Vanya couldn’t remember who’d noticed it first— they’d surrounded Diego as he expertly picked the lock, and when Klaus’ door swung open, they found his room empty, bed unmade, drawers half-opened and half-ransacked, window open, curtains fluttering. 

It was like Five all over again. 

But unlike Five, who they split up and searched for throughout the city for weeks as a special mission, they had let Klaus go. After all, it was common knowledge that the rest of them were planning on following suit soon afterwards, anyway. Only time could heal Klaus’ grief and guilt, as it hopefully would for them all. 

Now, seeing a sliver of the life that he’d had stumbled into, Vanya wishes more than _ever_ that instead of being powerless, she could turn back time. They’d _known_ he wasn’t okay, and they still let him go. 

“Ben, huh?” is all she can choke out, in as non-judgmental a tone as she can manage.

Klaus nods, like it’s obvious. “Duh.” 

She doesn’t know how to broach the subject. If he’s high on something— and she still doesn’t know what, because she’s seen him after he’s been smoking weed, and she doesn’t remember him acting like this— then he can’t be seeing Ben, if what he told them before was true. So either he was lying as an excuse for his drug habit, which she doesn’t _want_ to believe, or… he’s hallucinating. Though whether that’s because of the drugs or because his mental well-being has deteriorated so much that he can’t tell reality from fiction, she _also_ doesn’t know. And if either of _those_ cases are the case, does Klaus believe he’s speaking to Ben’s ghost, when he’s talking to the air? It’s unsettling, that he seems so cavalier about this particular ghost, when he was so afraid of the others as a child. He _hated_ seeing them. Vanya is immediately horrified. What if Klaus doesn’t realize Ben’s a ghost? Or whether or not he’s actually there, what if Klaus has completely forgotten that Ben _died_? What if… 

Vanya feels her living brother’s hand settle on the skin of her arm again, which brings her back to the subway car. “You forgot to breathe, I think,” he tells her languidly.

She inhales with a sharp wheeze. It takes her a few moments before she’s breathing normally again. “Okay, um, so…” Klaus doesn’t reply to her stammering. He only holds out her water bottle, now half-empty, as if to offer her a drink, which makes her nearly laugh, if only because of the ridiculous situation. She’d come over here meaning to help him, and now here he was, trying to help _her_.

She still doesn’t know why he was on the subway to begin with— what made this seem like a good place to sleep— or where he lives, or if he has a job. She doesn’t know what he’s been doing with his time for the last four years, if he’s ever tried to contact any of their siblings, if he really does see Ben when he’s not on drugs. If he’s _ever_ not on drugs. 

Which brings her back around to her original purpose. “Hey, Klaus, can you look at me again for a second?” He complies, staring at her blankly. “I don’t want to… make you upset. But do you think you could tell me what…” What he’s on? What he took? She’s so far out of her depth with this that she has no idea what the right words are for this sort of thing. “...what drug you might be under the influence of right now? Not that I’m trying to pry,” she quickly adds, not wanting to seem overbearing. The last thing she needs is for him to shut her down and tune her out. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, that you didn’t… have too much.” 

“What’d happen if I said I didn’t take an’thing?” His lips quip upwards as his head lolls to the side. It’s like half a smile— albeit flat, lacking the accompanying mischievous sparkle in his eyes that she’s used to seeing. 

She’s not about to let him play his evasive games, not now, when this could be literally life or death. “I’d have to call you on your bullshit, I think.” 

Klaus sighs and doesn’t reply. He sinks his body lower into his seat, slowly stretching his legs out in front of them into the middle space of the subway car, seemingly unaware that he’s taking up as much space as he possibly can. His ankle gets caught up in the blanket he’d been covering himself with earlier, and he frowns when the top half of the blanket gets tugged off the seat and the entire thing flutters to the ground. He leaves it there, though, making no motion to pick it up off the dirty floor of the car. “Pills,” he finally says. “I don’t…” He trails off, looking mildly confused, and frowning at his confusion. “I don’t remember what kind.” He slips his entire body onto the floor as well, leaning his neck back against the seat. “Not the snorting kind, the swallowing kind. Do you ‘member what they were?” he looks up and asks to his presumably invisible brother. A moment passes in which only the overhead announcement of the next stop breaks the silence (she registers that she missed one, somehow; now there’s only eight stops left). “Ben says the ones I bought were… rectangles and white. Pink ovals. And… the shape that’s like a flat triangle.” Klaus squints as he tries to draw it in the air shakily, before letting his arm drop limply to the ground. “Like that.” 

“Uh, tell Ben thanks.” At least something in his subconscious remembered what he might have swallowed, so she has to be grateful for that. 

She tries not to panic. Klaus doesn’t looked panicked, but then again, he doesn’t even remember what he _took._ He seems oblivious to her high level of alarm. “I don’t hafta tell him. He can hear you fine.” 

There still isn’t enough time to unpack the Ben issue, so instead, Vanya instantly pulls out her phone and tries googling what Klaus described. Her one pathetic bar of underground service is _agonizingly_ slow, and as much as she wants to keep Klaus talking, she can’t multitask when she’s under this much stress. She gets a surprisingly easy search result with “white rectangular pill,” and moves on to googling symptoms of a Xanax overdose. While she waits for the pages to load, she hastily pushes the water bottle towards Klaus again. “Drink some more of this. Uh. Does 'Ben' know how many you had?” 

Klaus shakes his head. “No.” It’s hard to see his face now that he’s on the floor and she’s still up on the seats, but she catches him biting his lip in his first sign of true uneasiness. He suddenly winces, like he’s heard a loud noise. “I took ‘em when he wasn’t looking… ‘cause I know you’d say that, that’s why… yeah, maybe… ‘s not my fault… okay, well, no need for _that..._ ” His voice sounds drowsier, as though he’s existentially weary with the one-sided argument he’s found himself in. 

As he continues his worryingly apathetic quarrel, Vanya scans the article she’s managed to pull up. Unless he took 150 or so of the Xanax, he probably won't die, especially since he specifically said he didn’t snort them (thank goodness for small miracles), but it depends on what those other pills he had taken were. If he mixed the Xanax with some kind of opioid, like heroin, the effect could be _fatal._ And he... she hates to see it, or think it, but he has what look like track marks on at least one of his arms. But she doesn't know enough to be able to tell how recent they are. She shoves her phone back into her pocket, frustrated, the last line she’d read from the website still running through her mind-- 

_No symptom, minor or otherwise, should be ignored. Seek out medical attention at the first sign of such trouble before it becomes too late to do so._

She knows he’s going to hate this. He’s really, really going to hate it. “We need to get you medical help.” 

It’s clear that her words take a second to register with him, but she can tell when they do because a look of extreme betrayal crosses his face. _“Why?”_

In her lap, her hands grip the tops of her legs tightly. “Because I’m not going to let you die.” Unfortunately, her voice is quieter than she’d like to admit, far less aggressive than she knows she’ll need to be in this situation in order to get her idiot brother to see reason. 

“I’m _fine_ , lil’ sis.” Klaus attempts to stumble to his feet, though one of his boots is still caught up in the blanket, so he ends up floundering slowly towards the wall of the car, catching himself with his palms flat against the window. He tries to right himself by grabbing the metal handholds across the top of the car, but it’s clear that his balance is being affected by more than just the movement of the subway because his legs sway dangerously and he falls in an uncoordinated heap into the seat across from Vanya. After a moment, he looks down at his feet like he isn’t quite certain how he got there. “Dizzy,” he says breathlessly, though she’s not sure to whom. 

Vanya swallows. “I am not equipped for this,” she tries to explain carefully as the car careens to yet another stop (seven stops left; though if she gets her way, they could get off at the very next stop and take a taxi to the hospital). “We need to get you to a medical professional.” 

“I’m fine.” It’s as though he’s forgotten his dizziness and his lack of coordination from literal moments ago. “I’ve had way more than this n’ been… fine.” 

“But you _just_ said you don’t know how many pills you had,” Vanya says through gritted teeth. She doesn’t know if he’s being stubborn or if he really _can’t_ tell how bad of shape he’s in. And okay, maybe she’s overreacting, and he’s right in claiming that he’s completely fine. Once, when she found him high after having smoked what had smelled like a metric ton of pot when they were fifteen, she had thought he was seriously ill. He had just laughed. It had turned out that he was fine then; she just had no idea what the effects of marijuana typically were. How was she supposed to know? This was the same situation, but worse, because at least back then he was still in enough of his right mind that he could explain what he’d been doing. 

Now, all she has to go on are the vague descriptions and maddeningly non-specific amounts explained by her potentially overdosing brother. Oh, and with the help of the hallucination-slash-mental-manifestation of their dead brother, who may or may not be real, though she’s seriously leaning towards believing the latter. “ _Please,_ Klaus.” 

“If you… try to make me go, I. Won’t.” He lifts his hand and points his index finger at her accusingly. “I spent two-seventy-five on this ride and if I leave the subway then I have to pay again and… do you know how hot it is outside? Too fucking hot. I just wanna… go back to sleep.” He stretches out on the row of seats while twisting onto his side, laying his head on his outstretched arm like a pillow. Within seconds, his eyes have already drifted closed. 

“Hey, no, don’t do that.” She crosses the distance between them with two small steps and gets back down on her knees in front of him, tapping his sweaty cheek firmly with the tips of her fingers to try to get him to open his eyes. Everything she's ever heard or read about drugs makes her afraid of what might happen if she lets him fall back asleep. “ _Fuck_.” Klaus screws his eyes closed even more tightly, most likely to purposely ignore her. 

Vanya wants to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: grieving the loss of a dead sibling, descriptions of the physical and mental effects of benzo abuse (specifically too much non-prescription Xanax mentioned, among others), Vanya's anxiety. (If I missed anything, let me know.)
> 
> Originally thought this was only going to be four chapters but at this point it's clear THAT'S not going to be true, so please ignore how many chapters may or may not be left because I genuinely do not know at this point. 
> 
> Thanks to all the sweet commenters on the last chapter. I'm open to requests, so if you have anything you want to see or questions you want the next chapter to answer, just drop me a line below xx
> 
> The drug abuse national helpline (in the U.S.) is 1-800-662-HELP (4357).


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end-notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Vanya knows there _has_ to be a way to get through to Klaus— she just has to focus. 

Still kneeling on the ground in front of where he’s sprawled out across seven seats, she frantically cycles through possible ideas. What could Klaus want? What could possibly convince him to listen to her? It’s hard to tell, after not having seen him in years. She has the sneaking suspicion that anything she might be able to tempt him with would only worsen the situation. 

More than anything, she wishes she had some form of backup. She has Diego’s phone number, but she’s hesitant to try to use it. Even if the call went through, and even if he answered, she doesn’t know if it would do any good. Diego isn’t really a catch-up-over-coffee kind of guy, so they haven’t been in contact much other than their yearly happy birthday text. There’s no telling how he might react to this situation, and no promise that he’ll have any better ideas than she does. Plus, she’s partly worried that Klaus will view any outside interference as a form of _tattling_ and shut down more than he already is. 

The seconds are still ticking away, and she can feel her potential window of effectiveness slowly closing the longer she sits in silence. “I want to be honest. I’m worried you’re overdosing,” she admits, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I want to help you.” Klaus doesn’t give any indication that he’s heard her. She tries again. “Can you tell me _why_ you won’t let me— why you don’t want to go get help?” she rephrases. Her sinking heart grows hot with overspilling emotion inside her chest, and her next words choke their way out of her throat, uninvited. “...Do you just not care?” 

Something about what she’s said finally gets his attention. He doesn’t attempt to sit up, but he at least opens his eyes, trying to center his unfocused gaze on her. “That’s _sweet.”_ He drawls out the word, patronizing yet gentle. “I ‘ppreciate your concern, Van, but. I promise, ‘s not an overdose.” He takes a breath, and she can hear how shallow it sounds in his chest. “...Well, yeah, anything is, since it’s no’ my prescription, is it?... not the same… huh. You like that word too much... I don’t think so. She’d…” Another slow, shallow breath. “Nah. Too… too. You know what I mean.” 

“How can you be sure, though?” she presses Klaus, ignoring his rambling for the time being. 

“‘Cause this is what it’s… always like. Supposed to feel like this.” He must see a question or confusion in her eyes because he scrunches his face up as he tries to find the right way to describe the sensation. “Like… takin’ a step into a pool of honey. And then the honey’s heavy and covers everything, real slow. Everything goes away. ‘S nice.” 

Fuck if that candid admittance isn't absolutely _crushing_.

“Makes me tired. Only get dizzy if I…” Klaus sighs, as if he lacks the energy to finish the sentence, but then it finally comes a moment later. “...stand up, sometimes.” He shrugs indifferently from his horizontal position. 

She wonders if he knows that he’s still slurring, and that the air is audibly rattling in his chest with every breath he takes— or if he’s so used to it that he doesn’t even realize. “I would still feel better if we could get a second opinion. And before you say anything, no, Ben doesn’t count.” 

“Hurts his feelings. Don’t get a vote. Not a… government, type. The voting one. Make my own decisions… not anymore, ‘s only fair... tell her yourself.” 

Vanya gathers that she must be in the middle of a three-(two)-way conversation again. As she tries to decide how to best cut in, she hears the distinctive clacking of high heels heralding someone’s approach. She looks up to see a well-dressed woman staring down at the two of them. Vanya doesn’t remember seeing her get on the train, but then again, she’s been a bit distracted. 

(In fact, she’s stopped paying attention to the subway stops entirely. It’s abundantly clear that Vanya isn’t getting straight home tonight.)

“Is he bothering you?” the woman asks lowly, addressing Vanya alone. Klaus doesn’t seem to notice her presence or her question, as he continues to ramble quietly under his breath. The woman risks a brief, judgmental glance in his direction before going on. “There are rules against homeless people abusing the transportation system. Metro security can kick him out, if he’s causing problems.” She says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Vanya’s blood freeze. Klaus paid just as much as everyone else to be on this train, she thinks, and won’t gain anything by a slap on the wrist. 

How many times might her brother have gotten kicked off the subway for just trying to seek shelter from the broiling temperatures above? How many other commuters might have looked his way and seen someone out of their mind on drugs or hallucinations and turned _away,_ or tightened their grip on their purse or backpack because they were worried he would _cause problems_? How many times has Vanya done the same, before today? 

For all she knows, Klaus _has_ been bothersome, or aggressive, or dangerous. But right now, all that’s in front of them is a man softly arguing with himself, who may have lost all ability to balance or make logical sense but who doesn’t deserve to be thrown out into the scorching heat of summer. Not when his breathing is as fraught as it already is. The woman may have had good intentions and a friendly desire to help Vanya (though clearly not Klaus), but Vanya can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t bother with the pretense of friendly politeness, only replying tersely, “No, we’re good. He’s my brother.” 

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes dart in confusion between Vanya’s clean, tidy appearance and Klaus’ sprawling, drugged-out mess. She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but Vanya turns away and focuses back on the situation at hand. The high heels swiftly clack away. 

After far too long of a delay, Klaus quiets himself and glances up sluggishly. “Who’s that?” 

Vanya reaches out instinctively and begins to card her fingers through his dirty hair carefully, the way he'd done to her when they were little, whenever she was upset. She lightly smooths his hair away from the edges of his face. “No one who matters," she tells him fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: more discussion of the effects of benzo abuse, as well as questions raised about Klaus' mental well-being. That's it. That's the chapter. 
> 
> PSA: in case it isn't abundantly clear, Klaus is a dumbass and/or in denial and these are dangerous side effects; if you take more benzos than prescribed, it can lead to trouble breathing, seizures, and death, especially when mixed with even a minimal amount of any other kind of drug or alcohol, which is bad. 
> 
> The drug abuse national helpline (in the U.S.) is 1-800-662-HELP (4357).


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end-notes for chapter-specific triggers.

Klaus accepts Vanya’s statement without question, seemingly unconcerned. “Okay then.” Then he seems to finally notice that she’s still down on the ground next to him, her knees on the hard floor of the subway car. “Y’can sit down,” he says, ungracefully scooting himself farther down the row of tacky orange seats, to make room for her to sit by his head. “Unless you’re gettin’ off soon.” 

As if she’s going to leave him when he’s like this. 

She gets up and settles into the empty seat to his left, slipping off her violin case and setting it carefully on the ground between her shins. Klaus immediately wiggles back up to rest his neck on her closest thigh, laying his head on his palms pressed flat together, like a child playing charades and trying to get someone to guess ‘sleep.’ 

Her fingers resume their movement in his hair. Why _won’t_ he go to the hospital? Her first guess would be ‘ghosts,’ since she can only imagine what sort of horrific deaths by disaster or disease had probably happened within the stark white walls of a hospital. But that really shouldn’t be an issue, since he’d said he couldn’t see the ghosts or hear them when he was in this kind of state. Maybe it was some _other_ unresolved, medical-related childhood trauma? Or a bad hospital experience that’d happened at some point in the last four years since he left the Academy? _Or_ he’s just a stubborn dumbass. Each option is about as likely as the next. 

Without jostling Klaus too much in her lap, Vanya stretches her leg out to step on his fallen blanket from earlier, which is still laying across the middle of the subway car floor, She uses the toe of her shoes to pull it towards her, kicking it under their seats so it doesn’t get tripped on. “Since apparently we aren’t seeking proper medical attention, I thought I’d at least make sure you get to where you’re going,” she tells him. He might have lost all sense of balance and coordination, but he’s still over a foot taller than her, and she doubts she’d be able to corral him off the subway and drag him somewhere against his wishes. Still, she can keep an eye on him until whatever he’s taken wears off, and if he seizes or passes out in the meantime, at least someone will be there to call an ambulance. 

“M’not goin’ anywhere.” She has to lean down over her lap to be able to hear his mumble, which has grown quieter with heavy drowsiness. His eyes have closed again, but he’s still talking, so she counts that as a win. “Getting off at the second-to-last stop, take the stairs to the green line, then ridin’ that the other way. _Fuck_ the yellow line, there’s no air on tha’ one.” 

This confirms her growing suspicions that Klaus probably doesn’t strictly have a _home,_ though she would still feel tactless asking him about it directly. If that’s the case, then she supposes his plan makes sense. Even though the sun has long set, it’s still blazing hot outside, especially with the humidity and no breeze in sight. And if he knows which platforms offers a change of lines, he could potentially ride the system for _hours_ for under three dollars. An air-conditioned subway car, even with the harsh lights and screeching brakes, is probably a far more comfortable place to crash for a few hours than a park bench or an alley. 

“The second-to-last stop--that’s just a couple past my apartment, you know.” 

“I _am_ keepin’ track, Ben. Yeah. You’ve got n’apartment now, Van? ‘S great. I’m.” He pauses to breathe as deeply as he can. “Proud of you.” 

If one of their other siblings had said the same thing, she would have interpreted it as being condescending. But Klaus seems entirely guileless like this, so she knows he must mean it. Vanya feels her face flush at his compliment as she shrugs, slightly embarrassed that his approval meant anything at all to her. “Yeah, it’s alright. It’s small, but it’s mine.” 

She expects that line of conversation to end here, so she’s surprised when he asks, “What d’you do now?” It sounds like genuine curiosity, not out of forced politeness or obligation. She’d almost forgotten how inquisitive he’d always been— and what it’d felt like for someone to actually care about what she was doing beyond just ensuring that someone with an instrument had filled the chair. 

An almost disbelieving smile crosses her face when she thinks about her answer. “I actually get _paid_ for playing the violin. It’s crazy.” Too late, she cringes at the word, reminded about what the other subway riders likely think about her brother, but she doesn’t want to draw attention to it so she goes on quickly. “I’m in a pit orchestra for a musical right now. It’s pretty shitty music and it doesn’t pay great, but it’s something. I was accepted into the philharmonic, too, base-level, so in a few years I should be getting a decent raise. If I keep up the good work, I mean. And a few other side jobs. I play back-up guitar for solo cover singers sometimes at a bar near the apartment, and I teach private violin lessons.” 

“Guitar. Like the Prime-8s.” 

“You _knew_ about that?” Vanya quietly laughs at the mention of her short-lived teenage musical experiment with Diego. 

He snorts in reply. “Thinks I didn’t know about it, can y’believe? ...no, I was the one who show’d ‘m how t’sneak out, ‘course I followed… reading or somethin’, I dunno…” A pause breaks up his train of scattered thoughts just before Vanya feels his spine tense up. “Not dead? No, before that. Right?” 

His voice is suddenly hollow and confused, but she doesn’t know what he’s even asking about. Time to distract him from whatever’s happening in his brain at the moment. Chances are high that he would have had to work at least _one_ job in the last four years, right? “I bet your work experience has been more exciting than mine, though, little bro.” It was always a joke between them, arguing who was metaphorically younger despite their exact same physical age. (Klaus had always claimed that while Vanya may have been older _emotionally,_ Klaus was older _experientially,_ and that had apparently weighed more. Or so he’d claimed.)

Luckily, her distraction seems to work. Without lifting his head from Vanya’s lap, Klaus pokes her thigh repeatedly. “Ha. Little. You wish. Ummmmm…” His pause to think is probably longer than it should be, but he does come up with an answer. A long list of answers, in fact. “Washed dishes for a bar. Was a bike courier ‘til I crashed the bike. Bingo caller for two days.... No, never again... Learned how to do tattoos but sucked at it, tho’ I still design them sometimes. Is that it?... oh, yeah. Dogs.” 

“Dogs?”

“Dogs.” He does not elaborate. 

If he _is_ homeless like she suspects, she also doesn’t doubt that most of his past earnings go towards— or have gone towards— the pills he’s taken. Or other, similar activities. He seems too casually used to the effects of the drugs for this to have been a one-time issue. She suspects, too, that his drug use might be why he _has_ such a long list in his employment history. But she’s grateful that he’s found some way of providing for himself— even if he hasn’t done a fabulous job of it, based on the thinness of his frame. God, she _hates_ that he’s drugged out like this, absolutely _despises_ knowing that Klaus felt like doing this to himself was the best way of making himself feel okay. Yet he’d somehow kept himself alive, and after their nightmare of a childhood, that was saying something. 

“I’m proud of you, too, you know,” she can’t help but tell him. 

She feels Klaus tremble, imperceptibly. A moment of silence stretches out, and she can’t tell if he’s going to respond at all, until he does. 

“Oh.” 

They ride in companionable quiet for a few minutes, with the sounds of the subway still orchestrating in the background. Vanya feels more at home than she has in months, maybe years. It’s not Klaus’ familiar presence alone, though that certainly helps. It’s more that— it’s the communal sense of knowing that they’re _so fucked up._

That they’ve been fucked up, long before Klaus even got his powers, when their father tried turning her siblings into child soldiers. They were fucked up before Five disappeared, and before Ben _died_ , and leaving the Academy did not miraculously solve their problems, and they’re nowhere close to the same _level_ of fucked up— 

—but at least they’re _together_ in their fucked-up-ness, even if it’s just for the length of a subway ride. 

That doesn’t mean, though, that they can’t try to put at least a few of the pieces back together. Vanya swallows. “I hope you know that if you ever wanted to try to stop using drugs—” 

“-- _okay,_ time to start gettin’ up,” Klaus cuts her off loudly. He pushes himself up to sitting, then almost immediately throws his head between his knees. “Ugh. Too fast.” 

She’ll try again later. 

Vanya glances up at the overhead announcement of the next stop. They’ve passed hers already, so they must be coming up to Klaus’ pre-planned platform-switch. She stands and quickly slings her instrument case back over one shoulder before hovering with outstretched hands in case she needs to catch her brother, who’s stood up and taken a few wobbling steps to the long row of seats opposite them in the car. He catches himself on the metal handhold before reaching underneath the row to pull out a stuffed black canvas backpack that Vanya hadn’t noticed earlier. 

Klaus frowns and slowly stumbles in a dazed circle, his gaze glued to the floor. “Blanket?” Oh, right. Vanya crouches down to pull it out from where she’d stowed it underneath them earlier, then holds it out towards him. He rolls it up messily and shoves it under his arm. It seems like they’ve gotten up just in time, because the subway car screeches to a halt, and Klaus takes the lead, lurching through the opening doors and onto the concrete platform. He takes her hand and tugs her off as well, as though he’s afraid she’d stay on the train if he didn’t literally pull her along with him. 

A rush of uncomfortably hot air hits Vanya’s face as soon as she leaves the comfort of the subway car. The doors close sharply behind them and the train takes off, leaving them alone underneath the weak flickering lights overhead. They’re so far out of the city now that they aren’t underground any longer, skyscrapers glowing in the distance and the sounds of cars rushing past on the street next to the train tracks. 

It must be midnight, at least, but it’s still so warm that she can already feel the sweat forming on the back of her neck. Vanya turns to face Klaus, who is wobbling dangerously. His backpack seems to be making his balance even more of a challenge— no surprise there, as it’s probably just as heavy as he is. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet, so she takes a few steps away from the edge of the platform, gently pulling him along with her to ensure he doesn’t topple backwards onto the tracks. 

“Stairs,” he reminds her, before taking a teetering step past her. 

She, however, doesn’t move. “We could get back on this line, going back the other direction. You could see my apartment, if you wanted. Come stay with me for the night. Or longer, if you need.” 

Klaus only hums noncommittally, looking past her down the long, dark platform. 

“Look,” she tries again. “I have air conditioning, too.” It’s a window unit, but it still counts. “And a couch, even. And food.” 

He turns his unfocused gaze to her face and reaches out with his free hand to slowly tap her on the nose with a single finger. “I’m not hungry.” 

Vanya feels her nerves rising. She can’t imagine— okay, so she can get on the whatever-color-line with him and ride the other way, until they get kicked off sooner or later. And she’s happy to stay with him until the effects of the xanax-cocktail wears off, though she has absolutely no idea how many hours that might take. It’s not that she wants to crawl in her own bed after a long day of work, though she definitely does. But— she can’t imagine getting on that train again knowing that at some point, they’re going to have to part ways, and either she’ll get off the subway to come back home to her apartment alone, or he’ll walk out the subway doors and wave goodbye and it’ll be like this never happened, like she never ran into him, except _worse_ because every day she’ll know that he could be out here on her subway line, in who-knew-what-kind-of-state-- 

“Ask Ben,” she suddenly says in hasty desperation.

Ben’s not real. She’s almost sure of that. But if Klaus believes Ben’s there, and he’s some sort of weird conscience guide, then maybe Klaus can talk himself into coming with her. Part of him has to realize that her offer is too good to turn down, right?

Klaus’ eyes light up, just barely, though she’s not sure why. “We have to talk in private.” 

She allows him to let go of her hand and watches as he unsteadily wanders a few meters past her, just over to one of the concrete benches between the two sides of the platform. He doesn’t bother to sit down, only looks downwards to just below his eye-level and begins speaking to the empty space next to him. The lighting is too dim for her to see Klaus’ facial expressions, and she can only catch a word or two here and there. Eventually, he begins gesturing in what looks like slow but erratic earnest. Vanya rocks back and forth idly on the balls of her feet, willing herself to breathe deeply and channel a sense of patience. It's hard for her to watch him like this, and she feels a stab of guilt for knowing playing along with his delusions, but she knows it's the best chance she has. 

Klaus spends almost five minutes talking to himself before he finally turns and approaches her again to break the news. 

“Ben says… we should go with you.” 

Vanya feels a rush of relief, but she can’t relax until his decision officially confirmed. Just because ‘Ben’ thinks something doesn’t mean that Klaus will actually listen. “So will you? Go with me?” she asks anxiously as the next eastbound train blasts its horn in the distance, signaling its approach. 

Klaus glances at the air once more, then shrugs. “I guess.” 

It’s not as enthusiastic a reply as she’d like, but she’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: Klaus exhibiting negative effects of drug abuse, allusions to their traumatic childhood, and Vanya using what she assumes is Klaus' mental illness against him even though it's for a good reason.
> 
> The drug abuse national helpline (in the U.S.) is 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
> 
> A few additional notes:  
> *There was a point when I was writing this chapter that it was almost entirely fluff, and then it worked better if I moved some things around and suddenly I fucked up and make it sad. me @ me: why would you do this.  
> *Klaus’ journal of short-lived employment will probably be a fic on its own at some point.  
> *So will teen Vanya and Diego's exploits as the Prime-8s, which is something I adore. Klaus was definitely mad that they didn't ask him to join their band. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter of this story. Thanks for reading!


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end-notes for chapter-specific triggers, though there's nothing new in this chapter that wasn't in previous ones.

The orange line train running in the direction they’d just come pulls up to the platform in a rush of hot air. The pair of siblings stumble through the nearest open doors, Klaus doing much more actual stumbling than Vanya, and they find themselves the only occupants in an otherwise empty car. 

They sit, side by side. Klaus takes the hastily-rolled blanket that’s been stuffed under his arm for the last ten minutes and, unzipping his backpack, shoves it as best as he can inside. He’s quieter now, not mumbling to himself or anyone else. He lays his head on Vanya’s much lower shoulder and begins to fidget with his fingers in his lap, almost as though he's suddenly nervous. Something has settled, between them, now that there’s a destination that they’re both moving towards instead of an endless, aimless ride. But for some reason, it’s not as comfortable as it was before, and Vanya isn’t sure why. 

He’d seemed so reluctant to come with her, even after influence from ‘Ben.’ She isn’t sure why he didn’t jump at the chance. Not that she thinks her place is _incredible_ by any stretch of the imagination, or her offer too generous to turn down, but… she assumes it would be better than the alternative. Wouldn’t a stay in an actual apartment be better than killing time by riding the lines all night, dodging metro enforcement and either having to stay at least partially alert or risking being robbed? 

Maybe his concern wasn’t about the apartment itself but about the owner of said apartment. Was he only hesitant because it was _Vanya_ who’d invited him? Surely he couldn’t have thought that she had any kind of… ulterior motive. She just wants to help. They’re obviously not as close as they once were, but their conversation so far hasn’t been rude, or defensive, or unwelcoming. Had it? Unless she unwittingly said something to make him feel uneasy. That, or his odd shift in attitude isn’t related to her at all, and it’s only another side effect of the pills he’s taken. She almost hopes that’s the case.

She distracts herself by trying to remember whether or not she has any extra clean sheets to throw over the sofa for him. Klaus has his own blanket, at least, and even though she shudders to think about the places it might have been, it might have to do until she can do a load of laundry. Next, she runs through a mental inventory of the food in her cabinets at home. Some crackers, some ramen, some cereal, maybe a few pieces of fruit if she’s lucky. She’d been meaning to get restocked for the last few days and it just hadn’t happened yet, so there’s definitely not enough to pull together for a real meal. “Do you want to grab something to eat once we get to my stop?” 

Obviously yes, she thinks, again struck by Klaus’ unnatural thinness. But her brother shakes his head. “Nah. Already told you— not hungry.” 

“What do you mean ‘nah’?” she asks, assuming he’s just being stubborn. Why else would he refuse a meal? Unless… maybe he thought she was expecting him to pay for it himself? “I can pay.” 

Again, he shakes his head. “Don’t need you to do that. There’re three soup kitchens on this line if I want to go later. They don’t always serve soup, y’know. Like, one has a mean mac n’ cheese on Tuesdays. I’m just… not hungry.” His fingers stop their fiddling and instead lie limp in his lap. 

Vanya can hear his still-shaky, too-thin breaths as the subway careens down its tunnels, moving back underground as they head towards the city. There’s nothing more she wants to do than continue pleading that he’s got to eat something, even _demand_ it if necessary. But she feels like they’re balanced on a wire, even if she doesn’t know how they suddenly got there, and she doesn’t want to risk pushing too far in one direction. 

“I have rehearsal in the morning, for a gala,” she says instead. “At nine. In case you change your mind and get hungry later, I do have some cereal. I’ll show you when we get there, so you can have it if I’m gone already when you wake up.” Based on his current level of lackluster energy, she can’t imagine Klaus keeping himself awake much further than the short walk to her building from the station. He can even sleep in her bed instead of on the couch, now that she’s considering it properly, since she probably won’t be sleeping at all herself. Someone needs to stay up and keep an eye on him, make sure that he’s still breathing— and that he doesn’t try to swallow any more pills before these are out of his system. After all, she still doesn’t know how often of an occurrence this is, or if he has any more on him. It’s not really a risk she’s willing to take. “I can leave you my spare key before I leave, too.” 

He shifts uneasily at that. “You don’t have to… ‘m not staying longer than one night.” 

“That’s fine,” Vanya agrees calmly, despite wanting to shout at his idiocy, “but I’d still like you have it, in case you need it.” 

The subway car stops at the next station. The doors open. No one gets on. The doors close. The train continues on its way. 

Only one more stop until Vanya’s. 

The car is already in motion again when Klaus turns his head into Vanya’s shoulder and speaks, his soft voice almost entirely muffled. 

“What was that?”

He pulls himself off her shoulder with effort. “I changed my mind.” 

_Oh no._ “Changed your mind about what?” Vanya asks cautiously. 

“Can’t stay with you.” 

“Klaus…” She slowly reaches out and lightly rests her hand on his still-clammy arm next to her. Lightly enough that it’s clear she’s not trying to _trap_ him, but to try to remind him that she’s... here. And that she cares. And that she very much wants him to follow her somewhere where she can safely watch over him for a few hours. “We’re almost there. You and Ben both agreed. Right?” 

“Changed my mind,” he repeats in a mumble. 

Well, it’s not as though she can tell her brother that he’s _not allowed to change his mind._ Okay. This is… fine. It’s fine. “Alright, so we’ll stay here.” Her voice is still careful, with just enough fake optimism to sound mildly cheerful.

He’s quiet for a moment first, glancing towards her apprehensively. Then, abruptly, he stands, swaying with the force of sudden movement. “No.” He begins pacing, ineptly tottering a few steps down the car before turning and pacing the other direction, leaving his backpack abandoned at the foot of his now-empty seat. “You gotta go home.” 

“I’m not going to leave you on your own.” She tries not to be insulted he would even think she would. Her eyes flash to the wall, where the signs of the overdose had been hanging before— but that was the car on the other train. 

Her gaze immediately shifts back to Klaus, who’s growing more visibly agitated. It’s not that he’s moving any _faster_ than before, his movements still listless and almost slow-motion. But she can see his hands tremble with more tension against the harsh lights of the subway car, and his shallow breaths now come in surging waves. “You don’t understand… I… it’s not... I can’t…” His halting phrases aren’t like earlier either, when he thought he was talking to Ben and obviously filling in the gaps with another voice— these are like he’s fumbling for the right words, but they keep eluding his grasp. 

The air is thick with his sudden frustration. Vanya wonders if it would help if she got up and tried to force him to sit down, but he’s acting so erratically that she guesses any physical intervention on her part will do more harm than good. Her heartbeat picks up pace as she tries to tamp down her own anxiety at Klaus’ abrupt and indecipherable emotional turmoil. “Just breathe,” she tries to encourage him, concern visible on her face. “It’s alright. Take your time.” 

“You have to go. Or I’ll go. Because… because!” He stops in his pacing and sways dizzily where he stands, reaching up to cover both of his eyes with one open palm. She hopes he’s not about to pass out, because she won’t be able to catch him in time, and if he hits his head it’s only going to make things worse. 

“...Because why?” 

“Because,” he mutters faintly. “You’re _disappointed_ in me and I _hate_ it.” 

Vanya opens her mouth to shut down _that_ train of thought immediately. “No, I’m—” 

“Don’t!” His hand drops from his face and he sharply twists his neck in her direction. Irritation and resentment rise to the surface of his flat gaze. “Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not lying,” she protests, trying to keep her pitch from climbing in apprehension. 

“You _are_.” His loud shout is a sharp barb of anger, each word a slow but fatal drop of acid. “It’s like. You’re being nice, and. You sound glad to see me but. You’re _disappointed._ That I’m like this.” 

There’s a difference, Vanya thinks, between being disappointed in Klaus’ _choices_ and being disappointed in _him_. Especially when she knows that the life that led him to this point can’t have been an easy path to navigate, and that the obstacles he’d come up against were often outside of his control. But is she disappointed that he’s… like _this_? Off-balance and dazed, sinking under the sensation of pills he couldn’t remember and didn’t count, suffering through an overdose on a subway because he can’t see that he’s killing himself, or because he doesn’t care? 

Of course she is. 

She should have known better than to underestimate his perceptiveness, even in his drug-addled confusion. 

All of a sudden, he collapses limply into the seat directly across from Vanya. “You’re disappointed,” he repeats dully, no longer yelling, although this despondent tone is infinitely worse. “I can tell. ‘M not stupid.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m. _Not_ stupid.” 

She says the first thing that comes to mind. “I know you’re not.” 

“It’s… too much.” What’s too much? Her disappointment? Her concern? None of that means that she doesn't love him, that she wouldn't do anything to help him. Klaus only hangs his head, drained, before clearing his throat thickly. “‘Sides, Ben’s already disappointed in me, tells me so. All the time.” 

Vanya’s whole chest tightens, and she can’t possibly stay in her seat at that. She moves across the car in one swift motion, pressing herself against her brother’s side and clutching his side in a firm hug. His hallucination of his dead brother can’t possibly… no, that would be _too_ unfair. “I’m... I'm sure Ben cares about you, just as much as I do," she tells him tightly.

Klaus doesn’t move from where she’s clinging to him, and he doesn’t reply. 

There has to be a way she can salvage this, she thinks desperately. She’s pretty sure they’ve missed her stop again somewhere along their last conversation, but it doesn’t fucking matter at this point. Getting him to her apartment is obviously out. _This_ actually isn’t bad, not moving from where they are in this exact seat. She’ll look a mess in the morning when she has to leave for work from here without having showered or changed clothes, and she _still_ hates thinking about the moment she’ll have to leave Klaus on his own, but hopefully if they can wait out the night on this train, or even changing lines, the pills he’s taken will have worn off by sunrise… 

She’s shaken from her rapidly churning thoughts as Klaus shakily stands and crosses back over to his backpack. He picks it up as the overhead announcement notes that the next platform is approaching. 

He’s going to try to get off the train without her, she realizes. He’s going to try to ditch her. 

Vanya stands, too. “Are we getting off here?” 

“Told you. You gotta go home.” Klaus’ lips twitch into the shadow of a gloomy frown. 

The subway car begins to slow to a stop, brakes squealing. “We missed my stop already. And I’m staying with you, I told you. Please, just for the night, we can talk about whatever you want, or not talk at all. I’ll only keep you company.” She reaches for him and pulls at the sides of his tank top, wrapping her fingers in the fabric so that her brother can’t sneak out of her grasp. 

Klaus seems to waver, before sighing. “Fine. Gonna at least switch trains, then. T’th’ loop.” 

She’s not familiar with that line, since she doesn’t ever use it on her commute, but that doesn’t matter. If it’s something they can ride for longer, then— “Sure,” she agrees as the doors to the platform slide open. They’ll switch trains, and then she can keep an eye on him and figure out how to… cheer him up, somehow. 

For a moment, the doors stand ajar, but Klaus remains motionless with Vanya attached to his side. She thinks that he’s changed his mind again, until he’s suddenly lurching towards the platform free from her grasp. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. 

She has to take three steps to catch up to his one, and once they’ve stepped off the car and onto the concrete, she turns to face him, ready to ask where the platform for their next train is. 

Only to see him take a staggering step backwards into the car, half a second before the doors slide firmly closed again. His head is bowed again, and even through the windows she can’t get a glimpse of the expression on his face. 

She stands frozen in disbelief for a moment too long. 

_“No.”_ The word echoes almost soundlessly from her lips. Without thinking she’s stepping towards the metal doors as if to throw herself against them and _force_ them to open, but the train is already in motion, windows whipping past. 

A few seconds later, the train has entirely disappeared down the dark subway tunnel, and her brother along with it.

Still on the platform, Vanya shakily sinks into a crouch, wrapping her arms around her knees powerlessly. Her brain feels like it’s malfunctioning, her thoughts coming in discombobulated bursts. He lied, he… tricked her. And now he’s on his own. And she can’t catch up to him, and she can’t go home. She _can’t_ just… go home. Not when Klaus is out there, and drugged out, and obviously hurting. 

A flash of helpless rage begins to boil in the pit of her stomach. She’ll never be able to ride the subway again, not without looking for him. How is she supposed to go on with her everyday life, now? Knowing that her brother is out there somewhere in the city, maybe even with that horrifyingly dull, miserable look in his eyes? She’s _so angry._ She’s angry at the drugs, and at his hallucinatory version of Ben, and at _Klaus_ for tricking her like that. And at herself, for falling for it. 

She presses her face to her legs, and a compressed scream escapes her as she grips her knees so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Somewhere above her, the florescent lights of the platform coincidentally burst with a pop, sizzling out and sending the station into a darker layer of gloom. 

She can’t go home. But what else is there to do? 

Numbly, she stands to wait for the next train. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: more descriptions and discussion of Klaus' drug use/abuse. I think that's all in this one. 
> 
> Well, that's it! This chapter made me really sad for many reasons! And that's the end of this particular installment of the series. As always, please remember that one drug abuse national helpline (in the U.S.) is 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this story (or otherwise felt other emotions, because god knows "enjoy" may not be the best word for this). I appreciate any positive or constructive feedback, either way. 
> 
> Peace out xx


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